Go Out Fighting 4: We Don't End
by chezchuckles
Summary: Happy Birthday to AllusiontoanIllusion - this one's for you! A continuation of the Go Out Fighting universe in which Beckett and Castle spend their first Christmas together.
1. Chapter 1

**Go Out Fighting 4: We Don't End**

* * *

Happy Birthday to **AllusiontoanIllusion**; Shannon, have the best year ever.

* * *

_"Castle," she said. "Whatever happens after this, after the end, we don't. We don't end."  
-Go Out Fighting 3_

* * *

She handed him a glass of wine and he saluted, sipped at it as they moved towards the living room. He headed for the last open box and pulled out another one of Alexis's childhood creations; he was turning his head and smiling at Kate, sharing it.

He still had the habit of silence when they were alone. She wondered about it, but she'd long become used to it.

Kate settled against his couch and watched Castle put the last of the ornaments on his - their - Christmas tree.

His tree, his family. It was his, still, in her head. And while she'd been living with him since their return from the rehab center, she had recently come to understand that she had these invisible lines in her head, like _do not cross_ police tape strung over certain parts of her life that forced him to keep his distance, made her a little off limits.

No more. She was living with him, sleeping with him in what could only be called their bedroom with the way they'd meshed their lives together, and those lines were keeping her from what she wanted.

It was ridiculous to throw up walls between them, protecting herself. From what? Her therapist had been working on dismantling her false constructions, and even though Christmas with Castle scared the hell out of her, she wouldn't - she was _not_ - going to keep pretending it didn't really matter.

He was staring at the tree and wincing.

"What's that face for?" she laughed.

He shook his head. "Jaw."

She nodded towards his wine and he sipped at it again, but she saw that he was working his mouth funny to drink; it wasn't relaxing him like it usually did. He was still numb, she knew, because the damaged nerve was growing back, but she hadn't realized it would get so bad.

"You're just tired," she said softly, curling her toes into the couch. "Come sit, Castle."

He settled his wine glass on the coffee table and backed away from the Christmas tree. The lights were white, and she knew that she should've asked him for a strand of multi-color to liven things up, to make it more her own. She should've brought it up.

She was learning; she really was.

Next Christmas.

Castle finally settled with her and closed his fingers around her ankle. She shifted to set her glass next to his and then curled into his side, rubbing her palm over his knee.

"Got something to say?" he murmured.

She laughed and watched the tree with him for a moment more, gathering her courage in the seven-foot physical manifestation of her own stupid failures at communication these past few months.

She had to do this.

"I have something for you," she said finally, sitting forward.

"Oh?"

She detected a note of panic in his voice and she pressed her lips together in a smile. She'd said no gift exchange this year, and she'd meant it, but she needed him to have this one thing first.

"Not a gift, Castle. A re-gift," she said, moving towards the tree.

"Kate."

"Not a gift," she insisted, getting to her knees with a slight wince as her scar stretched.

"That cream is on the bathroom counter," he reminded her. He'd seen her face then.

They'd had eight weeks in the rehab center practically right on top of each other, and then she'd come home with him and never left. They knew each other so well. Physically, at least. She could tell when the tingling in his jaw started to drive him crazy and she was the one to distract him from it, and he always knew how to interpret her winces and held back faces, knew what she needed next.

The heart though. . .

She was going to have let him know her, the same as he let her know him.

She pulled the wrapped shirt box from under the tree and stood again, carrying it over to him on the couch. He didn't move, just quirked an eyebrow up at her.

"It's not a gift, I swear," she promised that look, dropping it in his lap. He startled and caught it, as she knew he would, and she sank to the couch next to him again.

While he studied the paper for a second (it was her own purchase, late one night at a pharmacy while she'd been getting more prescription strength advil), Beckett leaned over to the coffee table and took a fortifying sip of wine.

When she turned back to the couch, his fingers were already slipping under the paper and ripping it off, shaking the top of the shirt box loose.

She realized she was holding her breath and let it out slowly, biting her bottom lip and releasing her fists.

She knew him. She knew he wanted this. It wasn't a risk; it was a sure thing.

When his hands pushed back the tissue paper, he laughed, lifting his head to look at her.

His face was so beautiful, even with the thin line of a scar at his jaw. Where he'd been shot saving her life. Maybe more so because of that.

She smiled back, unable to help herself, and watched him lift the not-a-gift from the paper.

She'd had his index cards framed. Dark cherry, silver inlaid, entirely too formal and distinguished for a couple of stained, white index cards.

But not even close to accurately depicting how much she cherished those cards. What he'd meant with them every time he'd pressed one into her hand and held it tightly there.

He stared down at the two frames, cradling them in his palms.

Kate leaned in and pressed her cheek to his shoulder to read them.

_I love you_

and

_I love you._

* * *

"I don't get both of them?" he poted, giving her a little grin as she sauntered in the bedroom. He'd already laid down, but he was waiting for her to finish washing her face.

"No. Not both. I get one," she said back, shrugging at him. He'd noticed that the frames were more like shadow boxes and he'd stood them both on his bedside table. Now, still standing at the side of the bed, she reached over him and plucked one up, cradling it against her chest.

"You do get one," he answered, looking up at her over him. "They were yours in the beginning."

She tilted her head and leaned down to kiss him softly, a smile thawing out her hard edges. He lifted his hand and caught her by the back of the neck, remembering how it felt to curl with her in bed at that rehab center, the index cards in her hands and poking him, but how she'd clung to them.

"His and hers," he added.

She laughed, knocking his forehead with her own and then lifting up. She skimmed her fingers over his jaw and he had that strange sensation again of feeling only half of her touch.

He'd gotten used to it. It was better than it'd been and every day of pain meant he was closer to full recovery.

She handed the framed _I love you_ back to him. "Put it on my side, would you?"

He nodded and couldn't help the grin that flickered to life at the inherent statement she made every time she took his _I love you _or gave it back. But he rolled onto one hip and propped the framed card on her bedside table, pushing a paperback out the way.

Patterson. Grrr.

"What are you growling at?" she called back to him.

He looked up to see her standing just inside the closet, skimming her pants off her hips as she laughed at him.

"Why are you reading Patterson?" he whined, felt his jaw pop.

She hummed and pressed her lips together, giving it an extra shimmy as she undressed. He watched distractedly, remembering how it felt to have her shimmy on top of him, but his fantasy popped when she laughed again.

"To be honest, it's not that good. I'm skimming."

He sighed with pleasure and sat up against the headboard. "The framed index cards were really gift enough, Beckett. Now you're just stroking my ego."

"Foreplay is sexy," she murmured, her lips lifting into a smile that did it for him too. And then she was laughing again, her fingers fluttering at the scar across her stomach in an unconscious gesture. He wondered if it still hurt.

"What's so funny?" he asked, expecting her to say _the look on your face._

She shook her head and came towards him, running her hand through his hair and kissing his jaw softly. He felt most of it, and what he couldn't feel made it all the more arousing.

"I got an email today." She was moving back for the closet, her fingers in the waistband of her panties and slipping them down.

"Oh?" How did this relate? And why was she so merciless? "Get back over here."

"Email from Amazon. One of those ad things, saying 'here's some authors you might like to try.'" She turned around even as she slipped a night shirt on over her head.

"Oh no," he groaned. He didn't know if he was disappointed in her covering up or in Amazon for their email.

"Oh, yes."

He growled and she came back to him with a smirk, looking so pleased with herself. "It said-"

"Don't tell me."

"'Have you tried James Patterson's latest best seller'-"

"You're so mean."

"Not me," she said, eyes wide. "Amazon."

"They're evil."

"His latest best seller," she mused.

"You said you're skimming."

"I am," she said gravely, crawling across his body to get to her side of the bed. He skated his hand up her thigh as she went. "It's shameful, I know. Skimming. I might - oh, Castle - I might have to skip to the end and read the last page."

She put her hand to her mouth in mock horror and he narrowed his eyes at her. "So long as you never do that to one of mine, do all you want to Patterson."

She laughed and he saw it, so clearly; he knew exactly what she was going to say. So he preempted her.

"No. Forget I said that. Only do things to me."

Her grin widened across her face and she slipped her knee across his lap, ran her hand up his chest to his neck.

"Oh yeah? What kind of things, Castle?"

"All the things," he husked and then groaned. "_All the things?_ What am I, five? Damn, woman, you're making me sound like an idiot. I do better when I shut up around you."

"Oh no," she breathed out, her mouth at his, so close, so very close. "I love your words. Don't stop."

That did it. She couldn't expect him to hold back when she made that little noise, when she breathed in and her chest lifted and her eyes were dark with arousal-

No.

He wrapped his arms around her and flipped them, his body pressing hers into the mattress. He stared down at her, struck speechless with the ardency in her face, the intensity of her reaction to him.

"Talk to me," she murmured and lifted her head up to kiss his throat. "I'll do all the things if you just keep talking."

* * *

She was cutting up the last of the pears into a bowl of mixed fruit when he shambled in from the bedroom, coming up at her side. He immediately restarted their conversation, diving right in like he knew she'd follow.

"You really mean it?" he said suspiciously.

She rolled her eyes and thumped his hand, scaring him away from breakfast. "I really mean it. No presents. And stop eating my food."

"You said you were making enough for both," he grumped.

"I am. Until you eat it all." She knocked into his hip for good measure and he shuffled back around the counter to the bar stool, slumping into it with a yawn. She liked that - all of it - the food-snatching and the yawning and the nonchalant way he chatted with her.

She still remembered sitting across a cafeteria table from him, getting into a monstrous fight over _honey_ because he wouldn't eat enough. Having him pick up scrambled eggs by his fingers and stick them into his mouth was barely even on her annoying-things-he-did radar. Barely.

Not at all really.

But she had to keep up the facade, the routine of normal interactions. She needed that too.

"When are you gonna be done?" he sighed, scratching at his chin.

"Soon. Is it numb?"

He nodded, still rubbing his fingers over his jaw.

"Stop messing with it, Castle. You know what the doctors said."

"I know," he huffed but swiped one last time over his skin. He'd started cutting himself while shaving, so she'd bought him an electric razor - which he hated, the Ludite - and every time he picked at the places where he had no feeling, her heart gave a strange, panicky half-beat.

It wasn't like he could get leprosy from a few patches of nerve-damaged, numb skin, but she still found herself eyeing him whenever he messed with it. His eyes turned introspective, and his fascination made her jealous - which was so stupid - but still. Jealous. He was supposed to look at _her_ like that. Intrigued by the mystery.

"I just like the way it feels," he muttered.

She put the knife down, wiped her fruit-slicked hands on the kitchen towel, and then she came around the counter to his side. He turned his head to look at her, waiting on her next word, and she slipped between his sprawled knees, her fingers touching the tops of his thighs.

His eyes snapped to her mouth in an instant.

Kate leaned in and lightly brushed her lips over the skin at his jaw, trailing her kiss slowly and inexorably towards his ear where the scar was knotted. She sucked at it and his hands clenched at her hips, a noise coming up from his chest that she hummed a response to.

"You like the way that feels?" she murmured.

"Oh, yes. More."

"Then leave it for me. Mine only, Castle."

"You think-" he started, then sucked in a gasp that made her smile against his cheek. "You think you can - just - uh - wow - just manipulate me to your own ends with all this. . .this - oh, yes that."

She released his earlobe from her teeth and chuckled, slid her hands up higher on his thighs until she felt his legs twitch. That tic in his jaw started up as well, which she knew he hated, but she pressed her mouth to the spot and tasted the involuntary movement of his abused face.

His fingers spread over her hips and pulled her in closer, made her lean into him, and he was nuzzling her neck and pushing his mouth to her cheek, seducing her even as she wound him tighter, and his mouth was _good_ at this and his hands were slowly inching their way towards-

The buzzer startled her so badly that she bit him, and he jerked as well, but she untangled herself and ran for the oven, thumbing off the timer with her heart pounding hard, cheeks flushed.

"Well, that's sure to kill me."

She glanced over at him in surprise, then realized he'd rucked up her shirt so much-

"Your own fault," she muttered, tugging her sleep shirt back down. "I should go put on some pants."

"Oh, no. No, please. Not on my account."

"Wouldn't want to kill you, Castle. Not yet anyway."

She pulled the muffins out of the oven and laid the tray on the counter to cool, then dropped the oven mitt to one side. When she turned around, he was right there, working his fingers at the back of her shirt and tugging it up again.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head at him, but she was scrambling to think it through. "Your daughter's not coming back until tomorrow, right?"

"Sunday. Yes."

"And-"

"And Mother's banned. I banned her."

She found herself wanting to laugh but only smiled instead, pressing closer to him, her heart still thudding painfully and now his pulse jumping under her mouth. His fingers trailed lower and curved, pulled her that much tighter to his hips, and his rumble of pleasure decided it for her.

"Everything can reheat," she murmured finally.

"Magic words," he grinned, pushing his mouth down to meet hers even as he dragged her away from the stove.


	2. Chapter 2

**Go Out Fighting 4: We Don't End**

* * *

"I can't believe this," he whined.

She stirred beside him and Castle glanced over in time to meet her narrow-eyed half-stare from the pillow, the tumble of hair over one shoulder from sleeping on her stomach. Had been sleeping. Not now.

"You woke me," she muttered, knocking the back of her hand into his thigh. He was sitting cross-legged in bed with the laptop, and he hadn't consciously meant to wake her, but maybe part of him had.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"Too late," she groaned and drew a knee up, nudging his leg. "What can you not believe?"

He glanced down at her again, her face buried close to his hip, her fingers curled in the mattress, body angled out from his like an arrow. "I just got an email telling me all about Patterson's hottest new book."

She grunted, but he felt the laughter vibrating his skin where she was pressed against him. She lifted her head and propped it up with a hand, eyeing him now with something more like sympathy or pity. Probably pity.

"From Amazon?"

"Yeah," he grumbled.

"They love their Patterson."

"Whatever."

She snorted and leaned into him, placing a kiss on his forearm as he cradled the computer on his lap. "I'm gonna shower. Wanna soap me up?"

"Soap you up?" he laughed, shifting startled eyes to her as she rose from their bed. "Eight hours ago not enough for you, Kate Beckett?"

She paused in her trek towards the bathroom, turned around as if she was giving that serious thought. He'd been totally kidding, really, just _kidding_, and he hastily set aside the laptop and rose from the bed to claim his prize.

"On second thought. . ." she said dramatically.

"No, no. No second thought. Ignore me. I wanna do stuff with soap."

She pressed her lips together and lifted her chin to study him up and down, and then she nodded tightly. Like he passed inspection. Her hand came to his and threaded their fingers and then she was tugging him along like an obediently trained love slave.

Jeez.

Where had his manhood gone? He was whipped.

But stuff with _soap_ and Beckett's _skin_ and all that lovely, hot steam. . .

He found he didn't mind being whipped.

* * *

He lifted the pillow once more but all he saw was the navy expanse of high-thread-count sheets. Huh.

"Kate?" he bellowed, dropping the covers back onto the bed and stumbling over the comforter that had gotten twisted on the floor. "Kate, have you seen my phone? I can't find it."

He came out of the bedroom with his hands still working at his belt, his stomach sucked in to see what he was doing.

"Your phone?" she asked.

She had a funny tone to her voice and it distracted him long enough to lift his head and see her perched awkwardly on the bar stool in his plaid shirt and those black leggings. He was kinda getting sick of those black leggings.

"I was looking for that," he grumbled, pointing to his shirt. He was standing in the living room mostly dressed, and all he lacked was his stupid phone and his plaid shirt. And she had one of them. Also looked like she had her phone right there on the bar - at least _someone_ could keep up with their phone.

"Are you going somewhere?" she queried, tilting her head at him.

"I - gotta go out," he muttered. "Something I gotta get."

"I'm not dressed," she said, glancing back down at herself.

He hadn't meant for her to go with him. "You should be less dressed," he sighed. "I like it when you're less dressed."

She waved her hand at him as if in dismissal. "I got cold."

"And so you took my shirt? I was going to _wear_ that."

"I didn't think you were getting dressed today either," she hissed back.

He grumbled and turned back for the bedroom. "I'll find something else." And then he paused and twisted to look at her, the afternoon sunlight drizzling her with gold. "Have you seen my phone?"

She shook her head solemnly and he sighed, trudged back to the bedroom.

"I'll just go without it. Quick stop anyway."

She didn't ask where he was going, and he was both absurdly grateful she was staying here and not ruining the surprise, and also a little hurt she didn't want to go with him.

Whatever. He didn't need a phone to walk three blocks to the drug store.

And the mood he was in all of the sudden - yeah, okay, he should take the stupid prescription strength advil - it might be best that he was going alone. Walk it off. His jaw felt like a thousand ants were crawling under his skin, but he wasn't a child. He could handle this.

"Castle?"

"Be back in twenty minutes," he sighed, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

When he unlocked the loft, the shopping bag thumping against the door as it swung in his hand, she was on the couch in his plaid shirt and - after a long and heart-pounding visual inspection - tiny little shorts.

"Hey," he said, suppressing the natural instinct to add _honey, I'm home_.

"Hey," she murmured, absorbed in her book. She tilted the cover strangely when she saw him and he realized with a growl that it was Patterson.

"What happened to skimming?" he said, coming towards her. She was sprawled out, taking all the room, and he scooped an arm under her knees and lifted, sat down before she could move, depositing her legs in his lap.

She peered at him over the top of the book. "I _am_ skimming."

He studied her; she was getting back at him for his pissy mood. "Looks more like reading quickly."

"Semantics. What's in the bag?"

He couldn't help the stupid grin that spread across his face and he forgave the Patterson indulgence as he revealed the plastic bottle he'd bought down the street.

She burst out laughing and tossed the book aside, leaned in from the arm of the couch to take it.

"My shower gel," she hummed.

"My fault we used it all up this morning. So. Merry Christmas."

"You know, really, this is a gift for you," she said, still grinning at him. All is forgiven, she seemed to say.

"The gift that keeps on giving," he said, wriggling his eyebrow at her.

"What a considerate man," she teased. But she leaned in to kiss him and he felt the heels of her feet digging into his thighs for an anchor. Her mouth was soft, gentle over his, and it felt more meaningful that he'd intended the gift to be.

And she tasted like peanut butter.

"You found my stash of peanut butter M&Ms?"

She laughed against his lips and licked the corner of his mouth with a little noise that made him clutch her thighs. "I did. I left you some." Her fingers traced at his jaw, along the scar with such a light, barely there touch. His skin tingled with alternating currents of numbness and electricity as she moved. And while it wasn't much better than it had been this morning, for some reason it didn't bother him.

"I don't need them - they were for your stocking anyway. That was the only present I got you, now I'm tapped out."

"We said no gifts," she reminded him, another kiss at his jaw, another frisson of circulating energy.

He curled his fingers at the hem of her shirt - his shirt really. "Not like soap and candy are really gifts. I mean, a real gift is diamonds or-"

"I don't want to pressure us," she said, pulling back, one arm cradling the bottle of shower gel, the other hand at his neck and stroking through his hair. "No pressure. We're both still recovering from. . .everything. And just - this is good, isn't it, Castle?"

"I'm not complaining," he said quickly. "I'm just saying. A couple of drug store purchases doesn't make for pressure. It's just a way to say I love you. Like a certain set of framed note cards." He quirked his eyebrow.

She gave a little laughing breath at that and suddenly she was curling in and straddling his lap, settling over his thighs with the shower gel between them and her hands cradling his head and her mouth peanut-sweet on his.

"I do love you," he murmured around her kiss, nipping at her bottom lip.

"But?" she whispered, her mouth open and waiting, as if timing it just right.

He just shook his head and completed the kiss, his tongue sliding along hers and his hands cradling her hips even as she rocked slowly into him.

* * *

This was the last weekend before Christmas, and he was grateful to savor the time with her. The precinct could be busy and unpredictable, and all week Alexis and his mother would be filling the loft with the usual Castle traditions. He and Kate had talked about the holidays - he'd been cautious with her when it came to what he expected to happen (and when).

Through some careful minefield navigation, Castle had discovered a real reticence in her towards any kind of celebration. She'd wanted to be alone, but she'd seen that wasn't going to happen - no _way _was he going to let that be okay, and she hadn't asked for time apart.

She'd told him to do as he liked, but she had only asked that Christmas Day be intimate and low-key, 'no pressure' - those were her words. That was a compromise he could do. He was determined to help her ease her way into being a family again, help her transition from solitary sentry to true joyfulness.

He liked to think he was good, at least, at making her smile. If nothing else, he would make her smile on Christmas.

So lounging on the couch in (now barely) his plaid shirt, the television on, her eyes drifting from the book she wasn't really reading to the screen - that was high on his list of Christmas priorities this year. He'd asked his mother to be scarce this weekend so they wouldn't overwhelm Beckett, and maybe his daughter had picked up on it too. Castle found himself actually enjoying the quiet, the lack of people or parties or crazy decorations, found himself admitting this could be their new thing together.

Just letting go, being at peace. Easy. That's what it was like with her. Maybe because so much of their time as a couple had been therapy and recovery, had been not speaking about things but worrying over each other and struggling out of the darkness surrounding her mother's case.

Whatever it had been, what it was. . .he liked. A lot.

He liked their legs tangled together on the couch as he claimed one end and she the other; he liked hearing her quote the stupid Christmas movies in a low murmur as she looked up from her book; he liked the somnolent feel of the warm loft and the bleak sky banished outside his wide windows.

Castle ran his hand down her calf, leaned his chin against her foot propped up near his head. The prickling along the side of his face had begun to distract him again, those tiny needles of discomfort as the nerve regenerated, and he found himself working his jaw, doing the exercises the therapists had sent him home with, hoping to push through until it only just ached.

He should've taken the advil.

She shifted her feet away from him and drew into a sitting position, switched sides now to come up between him and the couch cushions. He lifted his arm to let her in close and she laid across his chest with her warm skin peeking out between the half-buttoned shirt.

Oh. Gulp.

Only one button was done up. Wow. That felt good. The shifting tease of her body over his.

She laughed a little and leaned up to kiss his jaw, her fingers trailing over the soft cotton tshirt and then to his face. Her touch was firm, the way it had to be when his face ached like this, and he appreciated how she just _knew_ that without him having to say. He could feel all four fingers and her thumb splayed at his chin and jawline, despite the pop and fizz of the nerve trying to activate.

He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them to find her studying him.

"You know I love you too," she said quietly.

"Yeah," he sighed out.

She brushed that thumb over his bottom lip and used her knee to knock her Patterson book purposefully to the floor (where he hoped it would _stay_). Then she was crawling up over him, her mouth to his cheek, his ear, her hands inquisitive and alluring and slipping under his shirt.

"I do love you," she said then, her nose nuzzling his, her breath skittering across his half-sensitive jaw.

Even though her touch was good, was even arousing, she didn't seem to want to overwhelm him. She skimmed his ribs and softly kissed him, and the words were good, of course, but the actions were better. She showed that love in such - oh, wow - _fun_ ways.

"I do love you," she sighed at his ear.

"But?" he said with a little grin, echoing her from earlier.

She just shook her head and then she patted his chest and lifted up from him, putting a foot to the floor.

"Where you going?" he murmured, his hand sliding from her hip.

"Peanut butter M&Ms. Calling my name."

"Calling your name, huh?" He laughed even as she swayed her hips away from him, giving him an equal parts cute and sultry look over her shoulder as she did.

"You did say they were my Christmas present," she hummed, sauntering for the kitchen.

He laid on the couch as he heard her ransacking the stash under the cabinet, his eyes on the television but his head filled with the way his jaw seemed alive with current - and how her touch made it translate to all the rest of him. Castle opened his mouth and tried to crack the hinge, felt the nerve scintillate deep in his bone.

It was too quiet in the kitchen.

He half-lifted up to look for her, but he heard a strange ringtone coming from the bedroom. "Ooh, hey, that might be my phone," he muttered to himself, wincing with the work of his jaw as he got to his feet.

Hers had been at the bar; he'd seen it when he'd left to restock her shower gel, and he had never found his. Maybe Alexis had put in another goofy ringtone as a surprise. Castle padded through the office, trying to pinpoint the sound's location, moving on into their bedroom.

It kept ringing, a digitized tune that he vaguely realized was a piece of familiar classical music. But he was so concerned with finding his lost phone that he didn't immediately identify it; he just hunted behind the dresser, ran his feet through the shaggy rug, even looked under the bed, and finally ducked closer to the mattress.

He lifted the comforter from the floor and shook it out, but he could hear the phone still going on and on. Castle knew he'd already checked the bed earlier, but he yanked the pillows out of the way.

Ahhh. There it was - wedged in against the headboard. The screen was lit up with the incoming call, and it displayed the picture ID of Kate Beckett, smiling softly. One of his favorites.

And then he recognized the music: Pachobel's Canon in D.

Castle was mystified. He scooped up his phone and saw now that the ID name associated with her smiling face wasn't _Kate_ at all. It was three little words. Three massive words, really.

_But marry me?_

* * *

She saw Castle spin on his heel and stumble halfway towards the hall before he even realized she was standing right there. She couldn't help letting the smile stretch across her face, despite how her heart throbbed in her throat, but he had the phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline.

And that gave her confidence.

She'd been thinking about this for a long time. Planning. Asking his mother and daughter to make themselves scarce this weekend. And then today, setting him up for it. His funk as he'd left the apartment had made her nervous, but she'd already stolen his phone while he was in the shower and changed the contact information to that one question. She'd been waiting for the exact right timing ever since. To call him. And ask.

"Kate," he gasped, still standing in front of her as if he had no idea what to do next. "I love you _but_ _marry me?"_

She nodded, hands clenched tightly around her phone.

She realized his had stopped ringing and was going to voicemail. The sound of the message coming out of her speaker seemed to jerk him into movement and he reached out and cupped the back of her head and pulled her against him, kissing her in a devastating force of ardency and hunger.

Desperate, rich, satisfying hunger.

She heard her phone drop to the floor and the tough, rubbery case making it bounce, but she didn't care. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and surged up into his kiss.

She thought that might be a yes.


	3. Chapter 3

** Go Out Fighting Four: We Don't End**

* * *

She woke suddenly in their bed, a jerk of her limbs and the sensation of falling, but she realized her phone was ringing. Kate reached for it blindly where it was charging on the bedside table, and she squinted at the display.

_Castle_-?

Oh.

Silly man.

His ID said, simply, _Yes._

It'd been a week since she'd asked, and - well - they'd both forgotten he hadn't precisely answered.

She grinned and sat up, answered his answer. "Rick," she laughed into the phone. "Where are you?"

"Merry Christmas. Come find me."

"You're ridiculous," she murmured, but really, she had started it. "I need to put on clothes."

"You don't _need_ to put on clothes. You just want them."

"If I know the Castle family, then your daughter and mother are probably out there right now. So yes, I need to put on clothes."

"That could be true. Wait, I know. Let me come find you instead."

"No, I'll come to you. I'm hanging up now," she laughed. Kate slid out of bed and went for the bathroom, checking the time as she did. Nearly six. She'd had a restless night and for once it wasn't because of anxiety or a case at work. It was just _Christmas Eve_ and she was ready for it.

She was ready for all of it. Finally.

Even though the follow-up at the neurologist had given her the sense that Castle was supposed to be getting more rest, and even though the job had required some demanding physical exertion the last few weeks - enough to make the scar at her stomach tense and her back ache, even with the approaching Christmas holiday - ever since she'd proposed, they hadn't exactly been resting.

Lovely, intense, amazing not-resting.

But still. After today. After _tonight_, she'd insist on some real down time. Both of them. Maybe get away together, curl up in blankets while they swapped favorite episodes of campy sci-fi shows and shopped for rings online.

Kate washed her hands after going to the bathroom, found underwear and leggings in the closet and pulled them on. She opted for a clean white tshirt from her massive wooden wardrobe which - and this still surprised her - actually fit inside his closet; it was obscene how much space he had. They had.

She shrugged on another layer as she shivered in the cold seeping in from the windows, and then she headed out to find him.

Wasn't hard.

He was just in the kitchen, Alexis sitting on the bar stool and looking a little worse for wear. They'd all stayed up too late last night, telling stories and laughing and Alexis getting more and more excited about the engagement, getting _ideas_, and promising things, and painting a vision for them of the years to come. (Kids; she'd mentioned kids and wanting a little brother to boss around and playing dress-up with a baby sister and what would their names be, and Kate really - it had exhausted her to just sit there and listen.)

She brushed a hand down Alexis's arm and lifted an eyebrow; the young woman wriggled her fingers in a wave and went back to her pancakes. Shaped like. . .snowmen? Trees? Something with three parts to it.

Courtesy of the man at the stove right now.

"Merry Christmas, Castle," she murmured, sliding in next to him, absorbing the warmth of the stove, the heat of his body.

He grinned widely at her and leaned in to drop a kiss to her lips, quick and sloppy, and she reached up to smooth her fingers at his jaw.

"How's it feel?"

"Burns a little right. . .there."

She stopped her fingers at the spot, light and delicate, and she watched his reaction. Seemed okay. The nerve was healing, at least. That was a relief. She didn't like the way he constantly touched and messed with it, but so long as he was getting the feeling back, she could deal.

"Where's your mother?" she asked, sinking a hip against the counter next to the stove.

"Still upstairs. I think she and Alexis stayed up last night after we went to bed."

Kate nodded. "I woke at. . .three? And came out for water. They were asleep on the couch."

"Kate woke us," Alexis interjected. "Gram and I had talked for hours and hours."

"About what, pumpkin?" Castle turned at the stove and glanced at Alexis, but Kate thought she knew. She'd seen it in their eyes sitting at the dining room table for Christmas Eve dinner, and she'd seen it again when Kate had leaned over Alexis and woken her up.

"About our family," Alexis shrugged. She shot Kate a half-anxious look, but surely they were past that now? It'd been ages since-

Well, not really. Only since May, that day at Montgomery's funeral in the sun-soaked grass. Everything had happened so fast from that point: the hospital and being hunted and Castle saving her life and getting shot in the process (grazed, he insisted, it had just grazed his jaw). The recovery center and not eating and bribing him to at least suck down a milkshake and the hateful, grueling therapy - all of that in practically six months.

"Yeah?" Castle encouraged, but Alexis had clammed up.

"Has it changed too fast?" Kate asked, leaning back fully against the counter now.

But Alexis gave a bright smile and laughed, her blue eyes squinting much like her father's. "No. Not fast enough. We were talking about grandkids and kids and. . .everything."

Grandkids?

"Who's getting grandkids?"

"You. Or Gram."

Kate snorted and saw Castle blanch at the thought. She snaked a hand to his hip and squeezed.

"Let's make it Gram," she said clearly, and then she turned to Alexis sitting at the bar. "For your father's sake."

Except Castle choked on his next breath and Alexis and Kate shared a gleaming, devilish smile.

"For my sake, let's focus on the kid I got right now and shelve this discussion," he growled, lifting the spatula and pointing it at both of them. "I'm still a wounded man."

"Not wounded enough," she warned, narrowing her eyes. "Don't you want another kid?"

He seemed to actually pale and she saw it for what it was - a facade, a mask, a way to make it funny without having to face the reality of it. Not in a bad way. But being melodramatic to get a laugh so that the conversation wasn't so serious.

"Can we get married first?"

"Not everyone gets married first," Alexis piped up. All ears. Kate glanced at Castle's face and shut her mouth, reminded herself that it was a _family_ - their family - and not just she and Castle alone.

"You - young lady - better be getting married first," Castle growled at Alexis.

"Married first," Kate said softly and lifted on her toes to press her lips to that spot on his jaw. She felt his muscle twitch and smoothed her fingers down his forearm, took his hand.

Castle turned just enough to capture her lips, a kiss of relief and appreciation and understanding. When they broke apart, he moved to her cheek, gave a little grunt of contentment.

"Merry Christmas, Rick."

"Good gift," he sighed back, and she wasn't sure if it was the kiss or dropping the kid discussion or just. . .them.

Or all of the above.

* * *

Castle paused to survey the scene with relish.

Breakfast was an all-morning affair as Martha had come down around eight and joined them, and then Beckett's father had shown up and accepted a plate of pancakes as well. They were spread over the main rooms - Kate and her father at the dining room table, his mother on the couch, Alexis at the bar but checking her phone every few seconds, and Castle wandering between all of them.

"Castle, come sit down," Kate laughed. "Making me jumpy."

He shook her off. "Just came to see if you guys wanted more."

Her father shook his head with a gentle smile. "No, no. I'm good. I ate before I came too, so-"

"I told you not to," Kate chided, then she turned her face to Castle and gave him that soft, brilliant smile he'd seen so much of lately. "I told him you were making us Christmas breakfast."

"And in the shape of. . .stockings?" Jim added.

Castle sighed as Kate laughed. "They're supposed to be trees. It's a work in progress."

"Oh, right. Trees. Of course."

Kate laughed harder and he glared at her, poking her shoulder as he turned back for the kitchen. He could still hear her laughing as he reached the stove, started turning everything off. They would open the last of their family gifts in a few minutes, the extra surprises from Santa; they'd done the traditional Castle stuff last night - dinner and presents and tearing into it. He and Kate weren't supposed to be exchanging gifts, but he had something anyway.

She'd already given him a pretty huge gift last week, not just the index cards with his _I love you_ framed, but the proposal - as ridiculous and silly as it had been. And amazing.

He was getting her a Christmas present, no matter what she said.

"Castle," she called out. "Come sit down."

He kissed his daughter's forehead as he went past, and Kate pushed out a chair with her toe, nodding to it. Castle acquiesced with a sigh, but Kate was reaching over to wrap her fingers around his forearm in that gesture of ownership that always burrowed deep into his heart.

"Tell Dad what it feels like," she said, nodding to her father. "I was trying to explain."

"Oh, my jaw?" And even though Kate was most likely trying to get him to _rest_ (she was always saying he didn't give his body the chance to heal) while simultaneously working his jaw, he went along with the topic of conversation. "Yeah, it's a strange feeling."

"Only if you don't mind," Jim asked, leaning forward on his elbows on the table. "I'm curious."

"Well right now," he admitted. "I have this strip." Castle touched the underside of his chin, rubbed it thoughtfully. "It feels cold. Like ice is being applied directly beneath the skin. Not on top - I can't feel much there. But like a thin and cold metal plate is right below the surface, frozen straight through."

"Oh?" Kate murmured and her fingers on his forearm squeezed and released. He saw the tension cloud her face as she studied him.

He'd forgotten. He'd gotten lost in telling the story, in finding just the right words to explain that he'd forgotten that Kate didn't take it well, that she still held some imaginary burden of responsibility.

Castle flipped his hand and took hers, lacing their fingers, wanting to erase the lines of trouble. "It's just interesting. Doesn't hurt."

She sighed and he knew it was because that wasn't good either. It was supposed to hurt - it if it hurt, it meant he'd regain nerve function.

"Hey," he said. "Let's open the last of our presents. Stuff from Santa. All of our stockings are hanging up and taunting me with their fullness."

Jim caught on quick; he pushed back from the table and joined in on the effort to distract Kate. "Santa? Rick, you somehow convinced Katie to invest in a little Christmas magic?"

"Never," Kate said with relish and then bit her bottom lip and shot Castle a sideways look. "Well. It's a close thing."

"My family will always celebrate with Santa Claus," he cautioned her. "My _children_."

She narrowed her eyes at him for that, but he was only getting her back.

"Come on, Kate. Stockings."

* * *

She sat on the floor in front of the chair, leaned her head back against Castle's knee. She was cross-legged and her Christmas stocking still rested full in her lap, but she was enjoying the show. Her father was on the couch with Martha at the other end, both of them amused by their gifts from Santa while Alexis had to open every single item and immediately attempt it or use it or play with it - whatever it was.

She was smoothing peach lip gloss over her mouth and leaning in so her Gram could smell when Kate felt the sharp jar at her back. She turned and gave Castle a look.

"Open yours," he said, nodding down.

"I'm watching."

"Come on, start in on it."

"What about you?" she retorted. Alexis and Martha had filled most of his; Kate wasn't used to the stocking stuffer concept and she'd contributed only a few ideas. Better prepared next time, she hoped.

"Mine's not the important one."

She glanced down at the velvet stocking in her lap, embroidered with her name, the same style as everyone else in the family. She'd had no say in that either, and it was another thing she should've spoken up about. Next time. Next time they needed a new stocking hung up. . .

"Mine's important?" she asked. She looked at him over her shoulder with suspicion. What had he done? "Then come sit down here with me."

He slid right off the chair so easily she wondered if he'd been waiting for her to ask. She couldn't help the flicker of a smile at his eagerness and she reached up to caress the side of his face, realizing as she did that Castle had gotten her started on it too. Messing with the numb parts of his jaw so much that now she did it too.

He caught her fingers with his hand and kissed her knuckles. "Look in your stocking, Kate."

And then she knew exactly what he'd done.

* * *

He saw the realization wash over her and his breath caught.

He'd been - afraid. A little bit afraid. They'd said no gifts, no major gifts, and even fighting to fill Christmas stockings had felt like a battle, but he couldn't let this go. Not this.

But she looked as caught up in it as he did. She looked at him in _wonder_, and he felt like the king of the world for it. She hadn't even gotten to it yet and she looked like she wanted to take him into the bedroom and shut out everyone else.

He bumped her shoulder and she slid her arm through his, nestling down close.

"Come on," he murmured. "Look inside."

She danced her fingers over the stocking but paused. "You do it."

"Kate," he laughed. "There's other stuff in there too. You should open everything."

"That first," she breathed out.

"You really. . ." He trailed off and laughed again, then he gave in and leaned forward, stuck his hand down her stocking. He had to pull out a few things first to get to it - the apple, the iphone case, the tin of her favorite mints that she kept hidden in her drawer at work. But he knew the heft of the one he was looking for, the feel of the box in his fingers. He'd wrapped it in goofy Christmas paper - reindeers copulating - and when he brought it out and presented it to her with a flourish of his open palm, she giggled.

She giggled.

This wasn't the Beckett who had begged him to stay out of sight in that hospital bathroom while a killer hunted her down. This wasn't the Kate who had wheeled herself into his room and hovered at his side with those damn index cards scattered over the blanket and his jaw wired shut. This wasn't even the woman who had argued with him over eating _honey_ at the recovery center.

Those moments were part of her, part of them together, and they had shaped what this was, but here was the real Kate, the heart of her, reaching out and closing her hand around the box.

"Hey, before you open it," he started.

She lifted her chin to look at him and he saw the deep and rich brown of her eyes shot through with gold and green like some kind of spinning kaleidoscope. The mosaic pieced there made his whole body pulse hard with a longing that seemed unavoidable and yet also so very necessary.

"I love you, Kate," he murmured into that.

She smiled, that wide and deeply content press of her lips that made those eyes reform into a new pattern - all gorgeous and echoing love.

Her lips came close and pressed a soft brushing kiss to the corner of his mouth. It was the spot where the nerve damage had lately begun to heal and it sparked sharp and hot through his body, made him sway into her.

She caught him with a hand at his neck, a chuckle in her throat, and he smiled with it because they always seemed to do this with fireworks.

"Open it," he insisted.

She pulled back and Castle realized suddenly that everyone was watching them, watching her, because of course he'd asked her father first for his blessing, and then he'd used his mother and daughter to help him shop for it. So they all knew.

Kate was peeling off the tape with slow and cautious fingers and he turned his mouth to her ear and growled at her to hurry.

She giggled again, lifted dangerous eyes to him, but went back to her methodical work.

* * *

Kate traced the crude designs on the wrapping paper, and even though some part of her, some long forgotten sharp edge to her personality was affronted by the fact that he'd wrapped her engagement ring in reindeers having cartoon sex, most of her was amused by it.

Even a little bit romanced. Because that was Castle. He'd do a thing like that and be fighting a stupid, cheesy grin the whole time, and it made her heart flip funny when he did.

Which one of them was worse?

Kate got the paper apart and folded it carefully even as Castle groaned. She heard an answering huff somewhere from the couch and she lifted her startled gaze to her father. He was watching, Martha and Alexis were too, and they all looked on edge.

She grinned and went back to the box.

Blue velvet. Deep and rich as a twilight sky. Innocuous in its small and unintrusive presence. She pressed her thumbs to the seam of the box and glanced over at Castle.

"Come _on_," he groaned.

She chewed on her bottom lip to keep from laughing and flipped open the box.

* * *

He held his breath, and Kate was launching herself into him.

He wasn't even sure she'd seen it when she threw herself at him, her arm snaking around his neck and dragging him down and the ring box snapping shut against his chest, but now she was practically in his lap.

"Kate?" he laughed, slower to wrap his arms around her but definitely not letting go.

"Castle," she growled out.

She liked it. He could hear it in her voice. She really liked it.

"Yeah," he said inanely, and he had to bury his grin in her hair because everyone was still watching and laughing and talking now.

"Yeah," she sighed back, her face still against his neck and he thought she might be - no. Not Kate.

"Hey, you crying?" he laughed again, stroking his fingers through her hair and palming her cheek.

"No," she groaned out.

Oh, she _was._

"It's beautiful," she muttered and her arm squeezed harder around his neck, her hand at the back of his head and stroking through his hair.

He ducked his head and pressed a kiss to the skin of her jaw, felt the corresponding awareness flicker in his own nerve-damaged face, and she pulled back then to look at him.

"It's - beautiful, Castle." She took in a deeper breath and then he felt the box being pressed into his palm. "Put it on me."

* * *

She meant to study the ring; she had meant to watch it slide on her finger and just _know_ with that moment how everything would always go with them.

But instead she found her eyes drawn to his face, watching _him_ as he did it, her breath half-caught and her heart flailing like a rabid thing, flinging itself at the cage of her ribs.

Castle took her left hand in his and his fingers rubbed at her knuckles, her skin slipping and sliding over the bone. He lifted his gaze to her for a moment, nervousness and self-deprecation there, and then he squeezed her hand and tugged the ring from the box.

His face was so open. The deep lines and the crinkle in his eyes and the crooked lift of his smile because of the nerve damage and the numbness so that his face was altered from the face she'd met four years ago, but it was still so. . .beautiful.

He was pushing the ring on her finger; he was almost laughing with it.

He was joyful, yes, but his eyes were a color she'd never seen, a color that spoke of a depth she'd never witnessed in him before, and she had the dumbstruck realization that she there was so much about him she just _didn't know_.

She'd never asked. He poked at her and dragged it out of her and begged for her backstory, but she'd taken him at face value and then when he'd proved to have depths undiscovered, she'd only gone down a few meters before coming back up for air.

There was so much more.

And she had forever to dive with him.

She hoped her feet never touched bottom.

* * *

**the end.**

happy birthday, shannon


End file.
